A Place To Call Home
by velvet magnolias
Summary: AU. Remus Lupin was not prepared to become a dad at age 27, especially not to his late best friends' only son, yet here he is. And he's determined to get it right, no matter the costs. **Trigger Warning: Mentions of child abuse.**
1. Prologue

_A/N: Oh gods. Okay, yes I know, I know I should probably_ not _be working on any new stories, not when I have at least two unfinished ones on here that I've been neglecting (not to mention the handful of ones sitting on my computer collecting dust) but, But, BUT, I promise this one will be different. Probably. Hopefully._ _ _(don't trust me on this, I have commitment issues)._ Anyway, I'm mostly posting the first two chapters (hey look! two chapters. go me!) for my benefit, just to see how many people are actually interested in this. So please review and comment? _

_Also, guys, there are some **mentions of child abuse** here (and throughout the rest of the story) so please read with caution and be careful!_

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it. _Sigh_.  
**

 _(I've proofread this as many times as I could before my eyes glazed over, so naturally, there are bound to be some mistakes. Sorry about them in advance!)  
_

* * *

 **Prologue**

A man sits alone at a long, empty table, his back to the closed door. There's a glass full of a dark, amber liquid set in front of him, although this he hasn't touched, just drums his fingers impatiently against the table. There are two other glasses set in the seats across from him, one a shot glass full of a lighter, golden liquid, while the other is tall and thin, filled to the brim with a clear liquid-water, most likely, he scoffs to himself.

There is a small, closed window on the wall across from him, an almost-full moon visible from it and this he glances at every once in a while, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders tensing every time he does it. The large, strange looking clock on the opposite side of it ticks away the minutes slowly and it is the only sound in the large room, other than the man's occasional small sigh, the drumming of his fingers.

It isn't until the small rotating star in the middle is halfway around the clock that something happens. A small flash of green light emanates from the large fireplace in a corner of the room, and if this surprises the man, he doesn't show it. Instead, he sits up curiously, staring intently into the fireplace, as if expecting something from it.

For a moment nothing happens, and then there are two women stepping out from it, one tall, with a messy knot of black hair at the top of her head, sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room in a calculating motion, the other shorter with long, blonde hair, kind brown eyes, a small file clutched in one of her perfectly manicured hands. The taller of the two moves to the door, taking out a long, wooden stick from the inside of her robes, the other taking a seat opposite of the man's, taking a small sip of water.

"I already set up wards around the room," the man says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The Headmistress herself double checked it when she was here."

The woman nods her head, even as she continues walking around the room, inspecting the thin air; not much has changed, it seems. "And the window?"

"Sealed tight. There is no-one else in this room; I even made sure there were no unwanted visitor of the other _kind_."

A dark look crosses the woman's face as she turns to them, apparently satisfied with her findings.

"Right. Well, let's get down to business," the woman says, as she plops herself on the seat across from the man's, next to the blonde woman. She takes her drink and throws it back in one go, as if trying to give herself a quick dose of liquid courage, doesn't even blink when the glass refills itself again. "I take it McGonagall has already explained everything?"

"She has," the man ascents, doesn't offer anything else.

"And?" the woman pushes, raising a trimmed eyebrow.

" _And_ I think we all know why that would be a terrible idea."

"More terrible than leaving the son of your supposed best friends to be raised by those _people?"_ It's the blonde woman who directs that question, and the conviction in her voice surprises even herself. "I've been watching them. They're vile, horrible people, and I for one will not allow the son of _my_ best friend to spend a day more in their presence."

"I understand that, but-," the man starts, but the blonde woman interrupts him sharply.

"But nothing! He is your godson for Merlin's sake! I know Black might have held the official title, but you and I both know _Lily_ asked _you_ first," the blonde woman spits out, narrowing her eyes accusingly, as if daring him to interrupt her. "You have a duty to that child and I will well bloody make sure you honour it, or so help me Helga, I will _hex_ you _."_

"Mary, it's not that simple," he starts again, but Mary, it seems, isn't in the mood to listen to any excuses he can come up with because she interrupts him yet again.

"You bloody Gryffindors always over complicate things unnecessarily," Mary murmurs under her breath, rolling her eyes, before giving him a long, hard look. "It actually is quite simple; we've already discussed it. Our decision is final. You _will_ be the boy's true, legal guardian."

" _We?_ " the man says, letting out an incredulous laugh. "We've discussed it, have we?"

"Yes, we have," Mary says, shooting the other woman a look. "The Headmistress, Emmeline and I."

"And nobody thought of consulting _me_?"

"You would have only slowed down the whole process with your empty excuses," Emmeline says, waving her hand impatiently and levelling him with a look. "Everything is already taken care of, all we need is your signature."

Emmeline motions out her hand and Mary extracts a piece of paper from the files she's holding, which she places in front of the man. He stares at it, the letters nothing more than a series of unreadable scribbles, but he knows what it is. An adoption form.

"I don't even have a proper job, or appropriate housing," he tries helplessly, but Mary interrupts him before he can properly finish the sentence.

"Already taken care of," she says softly, firmly, giving him a gentle smile. "We've managed to acquire the old family home of the late Mrs Potter and everything is all set up, ready for you to move in as soon as possible. It's in Scotland, which works quite well for us; nobody will even think of looking for the boy there. They'll all be expecting him to still be somewhere in England."

"As for money, I have it on good account that the Ministry will no longer interfere with the monthly allowance James had intended for you in his will, after his death. It's not much, but it is enough to make sure you both would live comfortably," Emmeline says, giving him a smug smile at the questioning look he gives her. "Amelia Bones owed me a favour."

"But what about…"he trails off, leaves the sentence unfinished, but he knows they both understand him by the sad smile Mary gives him, the way Emmeline's eyes soften, just a little.

"Mary and I have already discussed that, as well. We'll take turns during those days, taking care of him while you're away," Emmeline says, continuing before he can interrupt her again. "And before you ask, no. I think we can all agree that _I_ should be the last person entrusted with the permanent care of any child. And Mary's schedule is too hectic to give the boy the attention and care he needs. And I'm sure you know Professor McGonagall has enough on her plate as it is."

"We've already discussed it to the last minuscule detail. We know what we're doing."

He changes tactic, a last desperate attempt.

"But Professor Dumbledore-," he starts, but Emmeline cuts him off sharply.

" _Dumbledore_ was a crazy old bastard who couldn't even manage to take care of himself, in the end." She sighs, softening her tone a little. "Look if I, even for a second, thought that leaving Lily and James' son at the care of _that_ despicable family was for his best, I wouldn't be here."

"We're the only people he has left," Mary says softly, hands reaching in again to the file she's set in front of herself, extracting this time a picture. "He _needs_ us. Just. _Please_."

The man takes a deep breath, hands shaking a little as he takes the picture. The boy staring back at him looks so uncannily like James that he feels completely floored for a moment, the air in his chest feeling constricted, making it harder for him to breathe. The boy is small for his age, a tuft of messy jet black hair on top of his head, large round spectacles perched atop his small nose. It's his eyes that catch his attention because although he is the spitting image of James, from the wild mess atop his small head, to the smooth darkness of his skin, his eyes are different. Large, bright green. Lily's eyes.

He manages to tear his eyes away long enough to notice the scar running down a side of his face, long and angry, a strike of lighting, of a curse.

"Is that where?" he murmurs, fingers tracing the scar carefully; someone whispers a soft _yes,_ and it could be Mary or it could he Emmeline, but it doesn't matter.

Not when his eyes fall to a large, purple bruise blooming underneath the collar of the boy's old, dirty shirt, three sizes too big for his small frame. He can feel the bile rising in his throat as his fingers curl around the picture, something like anger boiling in his veins.

"Professor McGonagall never trusted them and always made sure to keep an eye out for him," Mary says, noticing the spot his eyes seem to be trained on, unable to tear himself away, voice even softer than before. "She just never realised the extent of it, not until the boy was admitted to the hospital a month ago, with fracture wounds the family claimed were a cause of his clumsiness. I have a cousin, a Squib, who works for the hospital and who was one of the nurses in charge of his case. She was the one who phoned me after. I did the only thing I could think of and contacted Professor McGonagall. And, well, you know how the rest of it goes."

"Lily and James would never forgive us if they knew how much their son was suffering and we didn't do anything to stop it," Emmeline says, and for once, her voice sounds as weary as he feels.

"And you're sure this is your last viable option?" the man asks quietly, staring at the picture of the boy for as long as he dares. There's a part of him, a large part of him that grows louder by the second, demanding him to protect the boy at all costs, but there's also a smaller, quieter voice, whispering the same thing.

 _Remember what you are,_ the voice whispers, _you'll only end up hurting the boy._

"You won't hurt him," Mary murmurs softly, as if reading his thoughts. "I _know_ you won't. But you _will_ hurt him if you turn your back on him now. You won't just be letting Lily or James down, you'll be letting him down, too."

The man says nothing, only takes the form again, looking down at it as if it holds all the answers he is looking for. There's a moment in which neither of them say anything, and it seems to stretch for hours, but finally he nods, almost imperceptibly.

Emmeline procures a quill from what seems to be out of thin air, and the man accepts it wordlessly, his hands shaking as he takes a long, deep breath. He can feel a small shock of magic rushing through his veins as the quill touches the parchment, and he doesn't think as he signs his name away, in bold, spiky letters: _**Remus J. Lupin.**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter, unfortunately.**

 _(sorry in advance for any mistakes!)_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The August sun is hot and unforgiving, and Harry can feel small beads of sweat running down the side of his face, even with the windows of the small, beat up car rolled all the way down.

He has been staring at nothing but empty, open fields around every curve for miles now, growing irritated with the ever-present buzz of static that creeps in through the radio of the old car, its engine rumbling loudly while the woman beside him just drives and drives. They've been driving for what feels like hours now, and he can feel the perspiration seeping through the back of his shirt, the underside of his thighs sticky with sweat. His throat feels scratchy with thirst and he's almost tempted to ask for a drink of water from the bottle the woman has in one of her cup holders, but doesn't say anything, keeps his lips sealed tight; he's lived long enough with the Dursleys to know better than to ask.

"We're almost there," the woman says, using that same soft, soothing tone she had used when she had first met him, what feels like a lifetime ago. "You're gonna love it there, I promise."

Harry just nods, staring out the window again, clutching his small bag full of his belongings even closer to his chest. His fingers reach out to pinch at the skin of his inner elbow, just underneath the sleeve of his old, baggy shirt, a nervous habit. He leans his head against the side of the door, tries to make sense of the thoughts rattling around in his head; everything seems like a long, endless blur. He's still not entirely convinced this is really happening, that after wishing for so long for someone to show up and save him, somebody actually _had._

" _Hullo, Harry. My name is Mary; how would you like to live somewhere else?"_ the woman had said the first time they had met and Harry had nearly pinched himself, convinced that he was dreaming.

That had been nearly three weeks ago, and now Harry is sitting in the passenger side of an old Ford Escort, driving down a long, winding road to what Mary had promised would be a new and better life.

He still doesn't know if he believes her; she's probably just lying, and this is just some cruel joke the Dursleys had planned out, another one of their sick and twisted games that Harry had fallen right into. Uncle Vernon had been cruel enough for him to believe it.

Uncle Vernon had also threatened Harry enough about sending him away for good for Harry to have his doubts about this all, to still have trouble believing Mary when she promises things will be better.

He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice they're turning into another road, this one leading up to a small and quaint cottage, doesn't notice they're slowing down, not until the car is coming to a complete stop, and Mary is murmuring a soft, "Well, this is it."

Harry can feel his hands start to shake, his breath coming in short, fast gulps as he turns to stare out the window.

The cottage seems to be in the middle of a large field surrounded by a small patch of trees. It's painted a soft white colour, the door and the frames around the windows a deep blue. A small wooden table sits on the front porch next to the door, two chairs set next to it. He can see a large, brown dog sleeping under the shade of an old oak tree next to the house, a few sheep and a handful of clucking chicken grazing about a few feet away. There's an old, white wooden fence running around the backside of the house, before it stops just as it rounds the front, as if someone had started it before giving up halfway and leaving it unfinished.

A small shed to the right of the house and from there Harry can see an old baby blue car sleeping inside it, covered only partly by a white, dirty cloth.

"You alright?" Mary asks, placing a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze; Harry flinches away from her without thinking and he can see the way the corners of her smile drop, just a little. "It's going to be alright, Harry, I promise," she says, in that reassuring way that she has, giving him another smile, before she's opening the door.

Harry doesn't bother telling her that, at this point, her words are nothing more than empty promises, as he turns and opens his own door.

Mary waits for him on the side of her car as Harry slowly climbs out, holds out her hand tentatively. He stares at his feet, long enough for Mary to take the hint and she starts walking after a moment, Harry following closely behind her.

It isn't until they're a few feet from the porch when the door to the house swings open and a man with sandy hair and tired eyes steps out, giving them a small smile as he climbs down the small wooden steps. Mary approaches him and Harry stays behind a little, kicking at the dirt under his feet as they talk. He allows himself to wander a little, far enough so that he can't hear their rushed, quiet voices, but still close enough that he can see Mary from the corner of his eye.

A sudden movement catches his attention and he turns his head, just a little. He spots a large, tabby cat perched on the side of the porch, staring at him, its grey tail wagging lazily behind it. There are markings around its eyes that look almost like spectacles, and Harry has a feeling he's seen the cat before. He shakes away the thought as soon as it crosses his mind, scoffing a little at himself; there's no way this cat is the same one he'd sometimes see sitting around Privet Drive.

He's about to step closer, reach out a curious hand to pet it, before Mary's voice is calling him back.

"Harry, darling, will you come here a moment?"

He gives the cat a sad smile as he turns away and walks slowly back toward them, taking only as long as he dares, his hands starting to shake again the closer he gets.

"Harry, this is Remus. Remus, this is Harry." The man-Remus, as he's now learned-gives him a warm smile and from this close Harry can see the long, angry scars that run along the side of his face, the smaller ones that fade into the skin of his neck. "I have to go now, but Remus is a very good friend of mine," Mary says, giving Harry another one of her reassuring smiles. "He's going to take very good care of you, Harry, I promise."

Harry doesn't say anything as they look on at him expectantly, can only manage a small, curt nod as he pulls his small paper bag impossibly closer, the crinkling paper sounding loudly in his ears.

"You take care now, alright, darling?" Mary continues softly, reaching out a hand tentatively, before thinking better of it and letting it drop at the last minute; Harry feels a small wave of guilt wash over him, but he keeps his lips pursed. "I'll see you around."

She gives him one last lingering smile, before nodding her head at Remus and she's turning on her heel and walking away. Remus waits until they hear the sound of an engine sputtering to life, the crunch on gravel as it drives away, before he's turning to Harry again, crinkles in the corner of his eyes as he gives him another small smile.

"Come, I'll show you inside," he says, beckoning Harry to follow him. He doesn't try to touch him, doesn't hold out his hand like Mary had, and for that, Harry is grateful.

He follows behind him, being careful to keep enough distance between them, and Remus seems to understand this as he holds the door open for Harry, angles his body away from him just so, so that can Harry can slip by with ease.

The inside of the cottage is much more spacious than the outside suggests and Harry let's his eyes wander around the sitting room. There's a comfortable-looking sofa set up in the middle of it with a small blanket hanging precariously off the back of it, across from a small fireplace, two armchairs on either side of it. A still-steaming cup of tea sits on the coffee table, an open book placed upside down beside it.

The walls are bare of any pictures, except for a painting of what appears to be a silver wolf , a large black dog and a stag under a yellow full moon. There are various books and strange trinkets on shelves lining the walls and those Harry stares at curiously for a moment, before turning away.

"Well, this is the sitting room," Remus says after an awkward pause, waving his hand around lamely, as if Harry hadn't already deduced that, before moving further in, pointing to a doorway at the far corner of the room. "There is a study right over there, along with a small library as well, which you're more than welcome to, anytime you want. And if you go that way, you'll find the kitchen."

Harry follows after him, through the doorway he points out and the kitchen seems warmer than the sitting room, much more cosier, somehow. It's painted a warm shade of yellow and there are pots and pans lining the wall over the sink, an assortment of different spices crammed on shelves over the stove, the open pantry next to it stuffed with different ingredients. Even the large, wooden table in the middle of the kitchen seems to be cluttered, a pile of unopened mail claiming one corner, a stack of books sitting in one of the chairs. There's an open door near the back, which leads to what Harry assumes to be the back garden, a pair of muddy boots set next to it, a long trench coat hanging over them, a large umbrella hanging beside it.

It's such a stark contrast to Aunt Petunia's pristine kitchen that Harry lets himself linger a bit in awe, before letting his eyes wander again, as Remus moves awkwardly around the kitchen, as if trying to tidy it up.

"That door leads to the garden," he says, confirming Harry's suspicions, before pointing at a small corridor as he keeps walking toward the open door. "The scullery is right over there. And here are the stairs."

He turns right, toward a large, open corridor, the old, wooden stairs taking up much of the far end of the wall, a small door beside it. He walks toward them, rubbing the back of his neck as Harry follows closely behind him.

"Not very practical, having the stairs in the back of a house, but…" He trails off, giving a small shrug as he starts climbing, but Harry stays behind, staring intently at the door. Remus is partly halfway up the stairs before he realises Harry isn't following after him, and he climbs back down, brow furrowed. "Are you coming?"

Harry says nothing, still staring at the small door, before turning to look questioningly at Remus.

"Is that where I'll be sleeping?" Harry asks, voice small and rough with misuse and it startles him, the sound of it; it's the first time he's spoken all day, and he flinches a little, half expecting a reprimand, for speaking without permission.

"What? _No,"_ Remus says, sounding aghast, giving Harry a pained look. "Is that where-?" He doesn't finish his sentence, as if he's not sure he's allowed to ask, but Harry understands him all the same. He shrugs, gives him a small nod and there's a glint of something in Remus' eye that he blinks away, shakes his head as he lets out a small sigh. He gives Harry a small smile, his voice thick with emotion when he talks again. "I actually have your room already set up upstairs, next to mine. It's got the best view of the garden and the pond, if you want to come see it."

Harry hesitates for a moment, before giving him a small nod, takes a hesitant step toward the stairs. He's still not sure he believes it, believes this, still thinks it might be some cruel joke, because there's no way that in such a small amount of time, he feels much more comfortable around a man he's barely met, than he ever did in the seven years he spent living at the Dursleys. It just doesn't seem really plausible to him.

Remus leads the way, up the creaking stairs, turning back every few steps, as if to make sure Harry is still following after him, giving him a reassuring smile each time.

The landing is another corridor full of a series of several doors and Remus walks toward the last one, opening it slowly. The bedroom is spacious and bright, and Harry takes a small, tentative step inside. There is a bed set up in the middle of it, an open, empty trunk set at the foot of it. There are two rows of shelves filled with different books on the wall above it, and a bemused look crosses Harry's face at that, at the obvious love this man has for books.

He takes another step inside and sees a desk taking up a corner of the room beside the bed, a small bedside table on the other. There's a wardrobe opposite it, next to an open door to what Harry guesses is a loo. A large, open window takes up the wall directly in front of Harry and from it he can see a small pond from where he's standing, surrounded by trees; Remus hadn't been lying. The view _is_ beautiful, but Harry doesn't let himself linger on it too long.

Other than that, the room is bare; Harry hadn't expected anything else.

"I know it's not much, but I wasn't sure exactly what to get you," Remus says, rubbing the back of his neck once more as he gives Harry an apologetic smile. "But I promise we can go into town later, when you're up for it and you can pick out some stuff and decorate it however you like. Maybe some clothes too. A few toys too, if you'd like."

Harry says nothing, only gives Remus a small nod as he sits tentatively on the bed, hoping he'll take the hint. Thankfully, Remus does, because he's clearing his throat loudly, backing out toward the door.

"Right, well, you must be knackered after that long drive, I'll leave you to rest. If you need anything I'll be downstairs," he says, giving Harry one last smile before he closes the door.

Harry lays down on the bed, feeling tired all of a sudden, his eyes slowly drooping shut as he lets sleep claim him, his small paper bag still clutched tightly to his chest.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I felt it was better to cut it short than risk messing with the flow of the story. The next two chapters might be a bit on the shorter side as well (I'm still debating on a few things) but they should get longer as the story progresses. I should have the next chapter up by this time next week if nothing else comes up (I'm already more or less halfway finished with it so *fingers crossed*)_

 _Feel free to let me know how much you hate (or love!) the story so far. All the love x_


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! I really did try to post this up as I had promised, but right after the last update I received some very sad news and unfortunately lost a loved one and I kind of lost my muse for a little bit and couldn't really bring myself to finish this chapter. Luckily, I woke up today with a bit of inspiration so I was able to finish this up so here it is! I hope you all enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations *crosses fingers* Happy reading!_

 _( **ps**. this chapter is from Remus' pov. I'll be alternating between Harry and Remus, so the next chapter should be in Harry's)_

* * *

Remus stands on the other side of the closed door for a long while, something like guilt weighing heavily at his heart. He had known of the mistreatment Harry had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, had spent long hours after he had signed away his name promising Harry a chance at a new home pouring over the files Mary had given him, had spent even longer on the Muggle phone with Mary's cousin-the nurse who had been in charge of Harry when he had been admitted into the hospital, but he'd never even come close to imagining the extent of the _abuse_ Harry had suffered.

James had always been small for his age when they were younger, a bit scrawny, but healthily so. Harry, on the other hand was skinny and frail, so, so small, that when Remus had first laid eyes on him, he had feared even the slightest breeze would have been enough to make him topple over. He had felt the bile rising in his throat, his skin crawling with anger and guilt and all he had wanted was to gather Harry in his arms, to reassure him that things _were_ going to be better, he'd make sure of it.

But he hadn't. He couldn't. The haunted look Harry had gotten when Mary had touched him was enough for Remus to keep his distance, mentally restrain himself from even brushing against Harry, remind himself to keep his distance. Even now, as he stands on the other side of Harry's door, he has to remind himself that he's no longer Uncle Moony, no longer one of Harry's most favourite people in the world. For now, he's just another stranger. And that's just the way it'll have to be.

Professor McGonagall is already waiting for him once he finally manages to make his way back down the stairs, and it doesn't surprise him; he'd expected as much. She gives the faintest of smiles, and her eyes are as sad as he feels. It's such an uncharacteristic look on the elder witch's face, and it makes something inside Remus ache.

"Is he?" she asks, leaving her question unfinished, but Remus understands what she means all the same.

"He is," Remus ascents as he falls heavily into one of the armchairs, feeling tired all of a sudden. "I suspect the trip wore him down."

"It's worse than you imagined, isn't it?" Professor McGonagall asks, voice weary and laden with something Remus can't quite pinpoint.

"It is. I always knew Lily and her sister didn't exactly see eye to eye. I always knew Petunia wasn't the kindest. I just never realised…"

He trails off, but he knows Professor McGonagall understands him, by the way her mouth turns downward in displeasure.

"I never trusted them. I told Albus, I _warned him._ But he didn't listen." An angry, scornful laugh, followed by a sharp shake of her head. "He _never_ listened. Always thought he knew best and look where that got him."

 _Dead, at the hands of the man he thought he could trust,_ Remus wants to say, but doesn't.

"He always did what he thought was best," he says instead.

"Foolish man," is all McGonagall says as she snorts derisively, her voice wavering only the smallest bit and for a moment Remus thinks she might cry, but she doesn't. She's all business when she speaks again, her voice stern as she turns to look at him. "I've asked Poppy to come by sometime this week. I want her to run some tests on the boy. I know what the Muggle doctors said, but they're quite limited in their knowledge, as you know. Will tomorrow work out for you?"

"I wanted to take Harry into town tomorrow. Gather a few things I think he might need. It might help us bond, a little more. But anytime after three should work, I think," Remus says, and McGonagall gives a firm nod at his words.

"Very well. I'll inform Poppy." She pauses and this time she really does smile, sad and tired and the tiniest bit forlorn. "Goodnight, Remus," she says and then she's gone with the faintest of pops leaving him tired and alone in a house he barely knows, with a small boy he barely recognises.

He lets out a sigh as he grabs at his wand, summons the Firewhisky from his study and pours himself a generous glass. He settles back in his seat as he nurses his drink, quietly watches the dancing embers of the dying fire. And, for the first time that day, he lets himself grieve.

* * *

Remus wakes up early the next day just as the sun is rising over the horizon, a crick in his neck from having fallen asleep in the armchair. He slowly stretches, his joints cracking and achy, rubs at the back of his neck as he stands up. He allows himself a quick shower, the warm, steaming water soothing the stiffness in his neck, before he's making his way downstairs. He pauses briefly outside Harry's door, cracking it just the tiniest bit. He can see him still in bed, fast asleep, and his face looks peaceful, innocent, and it makes something inside Remus ache. He tears himself away after a moment, forces himself to close the door and he turns around, walking down the stairs, intent on making Harry breakfast.

He knows Harry hadn't eaten anything last night, and it fills him with guilt, but he hadn't been able to wake him up, hadn't had it in him to rouse him from his slumber when he had gone in to check him. He hadn't wanted to scare him, didn't want the haunted and scared look in Harry's eyes to be directed at him.

He shakes his head, letting out a small sigh as he starts gathering ingredients. He wants nothing more than to cook up a full English breakfast, perhaps even some pancakes, anything filling enough to make up for the years he spent starved at the hands of the Dursley's no doubt, but he stops himself. He knows the last thing he needs is a sick Harry from having eaten too much greasy food too soon. Instead he settles for porridge, making it the way he remembers Lily liked, sweetened with a touch of honey, with a bit of chopped fruit on the side. He's just finished setting the table when Harry makes his way cautiously into the kitchen, wearing a shirt that must have once been black but has now faded into a faint grey, a pair of trousers with a hole in his knee, folded a little, so they wouldn't drag under his feet Remus suspected, his feet that were covered by a pair of very dirty, very old, tattered trainers.

Remus can feel another pang of sadness and anger wash over him, but he forces it down, gives Harry what he hopes is a soothing smile.

"Harry," he greets warmly, waving him over. "You must be hungry; breakfast is ready. Come on, have a seat."

Harry hesitates for a moment, giving Remus a long, hard look and what he finds must satisfy him enough as he makes his way tentatively toward the already set table. Remus turns away for a moment, rummaging around in the fridge.

"I've got you some milk, but there's also some juice, or tea if you'd prefer," Remus says, trailing off when he notices the untouched porridge, the way Harry stares at it uncertainly. He sets the glass down in front of him, giving Harry a small laugh. "I'm not actually that bad of a cook, at least I don't think. But there's always toast, if you'd prefer, or maybe some cereal?"

Harry shakes his head once, sneaking a glance at Remus and Remus tried his best to smile reassuringly.

"No sir," Harry says, his voice soft and polite as he finally picks up his spoon. "This is fine, thank you."

"Right. Well. Let's eat," Remus says, taking a seat opposite Harry as he picks up his cup of tea.

He doesn't say anything after that, both of them eating in silence. He picks up his newspaper, if only for something to do with his hands. He can feel Harry looking at him every so often, curious and calculative and Remus tries to smile at him every time he does it, offer him the reassurance he seems to be looking for in anyway he can.

Finally Harry finishes, his spoon making a small sound as he sets it carefully beside his bowl and Remus smiles softly at him, dropping his newspaper onto the table.

"Not that bad of a cook, am I?" Remus asks, keeping his voice teasing and light as he gives Harry a small smile.

"No sir," Harry says, giving him a small, tentative smile of his own, before looking sheepish. "I don't really like porridge, but it _was_ good."

Remus can't help but let out a small laugh then. "Take after your dad, then. He was never a fan of porridge, either. Your mum, on the other hand, swore by it."

"You knew my parents?" Harry asks, bright, green eyes wide with wonder and childish curiosity.

"They were my best friends," he says, honestly, truthfully. "Both of them. They were the best people I've ever met."

"I wish I remembered them," Harry murmurs, eyes downcast and a little sad, and it makes something in his chest constrict painfully.

"They loved you," Remus says, voice a little hoarse as he swallows past the knot forming in his throat. He wants Harry to know that, needs him to know that there was a point in his life where he was loved. "Both of them. They loved you a lot. I'll tell you about them sometime, if you'd like."

Harry only nods, giving him a bemused look, but doesn't say anything else. Remus wants nothing more than to sit with him awhile longer, tell him everything he wants to know about his parents, but he also knows there are things he needs to do first; one look at Harry's old, tattered clothes is enough to remind him that.

They'll have time to talk, later.

"Why don't you run outside while I tidy up, and then we can head into town?" he asks after a moment, and Harry only hesitates for a moment, before he gives a small nod.

Remus waits until he knows Harry has made it safely outside before he takes out his wand, waves it around once and the table clears itself, the dishes floating their way onto the sink, where they're promptly cleaned and put away. He takes a few moments to take a long, deep breath, before he's plastering a smile onto his face, and making his way outside to where Harry is waiting.

* * *

The drive into town is a silent one for the most part, Harry staring quietly out the window, a pensive look on his face. Remus lets the radio play softly in the background, if only for some noise, for a way to dissipate the tension.

Their first stop is the department store, where they spend an inordinate amount of time shopping for clothes that actually fit for Harry. Remus suspects that if it hadn't been for the kind, elderly shop attendant who cheerily offered her help after both he and Harry had stared clueless at the endless racks of clothes, they'd have probably stayed in there even longer. In the end, they had emerged with quite a few number of bags full of fitting Muggle clothes for Harry, and even a few toys Remus had caught him staring at forlornly when Harry thought he wasn't looking.

After a quick lunch of fish and chips, their second stop was for groceries, which is another feat in and of itself, for Remus had only ever shopped for himself and he wasn't entirely sure what a growing boy like Harry was supposed to eat, not to mention the fact that most of his shopping was done at Diagon Alley or using the Wizarding Post. It takes him awhile, but he finally manages to rack his brains enough to remember the kind of food his mother had kept around the house while he was growing up.

Remus hadn't realised how badly prepared and clueless he actually was about taking care of a child and more than once he found himself worrying that he was doing a bad job. But Harry, for his part, seemed to be enjoying himself, even going as far as timidly asking him questions, random little things that seem to pop into his seven-year old head, looking at him curiously every time Remus answers him with a smile, as if he is still somehow waiting for the other shoe to drop. Remus tries not to take it too personally, reminds himself that while he's learning to be a parent, Harry is also learning how to be a child-he suspects living with the Dursleys hadn't allowed him nearly as much freedom as he does.

All in all, he counts their little trip as a success and he hopes their third and last stop will be a success too. He still hasn't told Harry about the most important fact about him, and knowing Petunia, Lily's sister, he can almost bet his wand that magic was a taboo in her household, knows that she'd have done anything she thought possible to try and squash it out of Harry. He knows it's bound the be a difficult conversation to have, being told magic _is_ real after being told the opposite for so long.

He walks them to the little ice cream parlor down the corner of the street from where they parked their car, hoping the treat will be enough to ease the new load of information he's about to drop. He pays for the purchases-after much indecision from Harry who had carefully eyed all his choices, much to Remus' amusement-before leading them to a secluded little spot on the edge of the town square.

He casts a quick and silent Disillusionment Charm, only after making sure more than once that there were no prying eyes from the Muggles lingering about. For the most part it was deserted, just a few random Muggles lingering about, no doubt enjoying the warm, sunny day, and Remus lets out a small sigh of relief as he sits back, mulling over the best way to approach the subject.

Finally, he says, "Tell me, Harry, how much do you know about magic?"

Harry seems to falter at his question, the cone of ice cream he had been enjoying only moments prior seemingly forgotten as he looks at Remus from under his fringe, eyes wide and scared, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Only that it's not real, sir," Harry answers after a small moment, voice tiny and scared and not for the first time does Remus feel a pang of sadness wash over him, his heart constricting painfully in his chest.

He curses a little at himself, tries to find a different way to approach the subject.

"What if I told you that magic was real. That you're as much a wizard as I am."

Harry just looks at him, eyes still wide and full of doubt and Remus tries his best to look encouraging, truthful.

"Would you like me to show you?"

There's a pause as Harry looks at him, a little disbelieving, but finally he gives a single nod of his head. Remus smiles, holding out his hand in front of himself. He looks at it intently and nothing happens for a few short moments, but then there are small, blue flames dancing in the palm of his hand and Harry's eyes go wide with surprise.

"Oh," he says, reaching out a tentative hand to touch at the small flames, his eyes widening even more when they don't burn him. "How are you doing that?"

"Magic," Remus says simply, giving Harry a small grin.

"Can I do that? Will you show me?" Harry asks, voice curious and filled with awe, his eyes still glued to the blue flame dancing in his palm.

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Remus says, smiling when Harry frowns. "But you will. Eventually. There's a school. Hogwarts. There they'll teach you everything you need to know. Your parents and I went there. It's where we met."

"Will it be soon?"

"I'm afraid not," Remus says with a small apologetic smile. "Not until you're eleven."

Harry nodded at his words, still looking bemused. Remus waves his hand, the small flames completely disappearing as he measured his next words.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," he starts, Harry's wide curious, eyes finding his again. "There's a friend of mine there, a nurse. She's coming around later this afternoon. Just to have a bit of a look at you. Run a few medical tests. It's just something they do for kids around your age, just to make sure everything is running smoothly. I promise it won't hurt and she'll take very good care of you."

It's not exactly a lie-it isn't uncommon for wizarding parents to have certain tests done on their children to ensure nothing is wrong with their magic. But knowing Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, he's sure they'll be running different tests.

There's a short tense moment, before Harry is nodding slowly and Remus lets out a sigh of relief. He looks around again, making sure no one is looking their way, before he takes off the Disillusionment Charm from both of them. He stands, offering his hand tentatively to Harry, who only stares at it for a long moment, before taking it slowly.

"Let's head home, then."

He counts it as a small victory when Harry looks at him and smiles.

* * *

 _A/N: So there it is! It's a bit on the short side and not much happens here, but it's still a chapter I felt needed addressing. I promise the next chapters after this should be on the longer side, and updates should be consistent (I'm thinking about every two weeks? But we'll see) Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who favorited/followed this story so far, and a special thanks for all you who took the time to review:_

 ** _geekymom:_** _Thank you! I'm glad you thought so. Hopefully this new chapter doesn't let you down._ **  
**

 ** _moonythemarauder1:_** _Aaaah, I can't tell you how much this review made me smile! I'm glad you're liking it so far. I sincerely hope it continues to live up to your expectations!_

 ** _guest_** _ **(1)** :_ _I can't wait for the Remus-Harry hugs either! I'm practically bouncing in my seat in excitement. There might be one or two in the next chapter, who knows :)_

 ** _guest (2):_** _Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far._ _I'm excited, too! I can't wait to see where this story takes us.  
_

 ** _guest (3):_** _I imagine him to be around seven actually :)_ _  
_

 _Anyway, thank you to everyone who's read the story so far! Don't forget to leave any feedback/suggestions! I really do appreciate them, guys._

 _-velvet_


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